


A Night To Remember

by sirtwentyofhousegoodmen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe, Arcturus cannot get drunk, Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Black family passive agressiveness, Gen, Lycoris is a flapper lmao, Pre-Canon, Regulus is really just wizard Anthony Blanche, it is impossible, young arcturus is incredibly handsome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirtwentyofhousegoodmen/pseuds/sirtwentyofhousegoodmen
Summary: January 21st, 1924 - Arcturus Black is coerced into going out for a drink at the Hog's Head a week before his wedding to Melania Macmillan with his siblings.
Relationships: Arcturus Black & Regulus Black & Lycoris Black, Arcturus Black III/Melania Macmillan Black
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	A Night To Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarieKavanagh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieKavanagh/gifts), [izzythehutt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzythehutt/gifts).



> wrote this because I was bored and until I get my computer situation resolved there won't be any ozymandias, so here—prequel fic for all you lol.  
> Special thanks to izzythehutt for piquing my curiosity with Brideshead Revisited references until I caved and finally read the book—which lead to the main inspiration behind this lol. Also to MarieKavanagh who's Black fam fics helped influence this as well!

**June 21st, 1923, 10:37 PM, Hog’s Head**

“Where is she?”

Regulus chanced a look over at his older brother, and he found exactly what he expected to find—scowl firmly in place and grinding his teeth to dust.

“She’ll be along in a minute, Archie—and do stop that scowling, you’re far too handsome for it and it’ll give you wrinkles besides.”

Arcturus’s response was of course, to scowl even deeper at that, though he could detect a faint blush at the tips of his ears from the compliment of his looks. His brother truly was a beautiful man—all Blacks were, naturally—though Arcturus especially stood out amongst them. He’d inherited all of mother’s softer features with father’s coloring, giving him an almost epicene beauty that made him look every inch a classical statue. He’d even heard people go so far as to say his brother was prettier than Lycoris—which, beautiful though his sister was, wasn’t strictly false.

And what did he do with those looks?

Scowl.

What a dreadful waste.

“She’d better be along soon—I haven’t the time for this.”

“You haven’t the time for anything but to grumble and mumble about legacy—take the night off, brother dearest.”

Arcturus pinned him with a glare, though after a few seconds he deflated and went back to staring at his glass of water.

“Come now, Archie—This will be my NEWT year, Lycoris is off in Paris, and you’re getting shackled next week! This will be the last time for a good while it’ll be just the three of us.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

At the annoyed grumbling, Lycoris finally made her appearance, bursting through the front door of the Hog’s Head, and shrugging off her coat, “Oh, I’m so sorry, boys—I got held up by a meeting with my publishers—please tell me you haven’t started without me.”

“Not at all, dear,” Regulus motioned towards the empty chair on his right, “Sit, sit!”

After two customary pecks to the cheek, she gave Archie a light peck on the back of his head, to which he responded with a grumble that was half-affectionate, half-annoyed.

“So,” she sat down, waving the barkeep over, “What have I missed?”

“Oh, _everything_ ,” Regulus said, sarcastically. “You know our brother—a paragon of loquaciousness.”

“I am sitting _right here_.”

“Then _participate_.”

Arcturus took a deep breath to gather his patience, “How have you been, Lycoris?”

“Quite well, thank you,” She looked at him intently, “And you? How are you feeling about being married?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I am fine.”

“ _Archie_.”

“ _Hmph_ —it’s father.”

Regulus grimaced, and Lycoris sighed knowingly, “What is it now?”

He ran a hand over his face in exasperation, “The man made a complete _idiot_ of himself in front of the Macmillan girl’s parents—he was half-plastered by the time the luncheon took place, it was a complete and unmitigated _disaster_.”

Lycoris raised an eyebrow, sardonically. “ _The Macmillan girl_? I forgot how much of a romantic you were.”

“ _Melania_ —who gives a damn, it’s all the same.”

“— _Who gives a_ —“ Regulus repeated, “—She’s to be your _wife_!”

“So?”

“So you could do her the courtesy of referring to her by name!”

“That’s what you take away from this?” Arcturus said, incredulously. “Father embarrasses himself in front of my soon-to-be mother and father-in-law and me not referring to my affianced by her name is your problem?”

“Well, you know poor papa can’t help it—not since mama’s death.”

“I don’t care if he can’t help it—it’s already the worst-kept secret in Britain that the acting head of this family is a raging dipso, does he have to further debase himself in front of respectable company?”

Regulus looked over at his brother with a sort of confused pity. He truly had no idea why Arcturus carried such a grudge against their father—it wasn’t as if the poor man could help his condition. He may have been a bit clumsy in public every now and then, though it was hardly something that occurred often—at least, not to his knowledge. Yet, Arcturus seemed to almost despise father—he would have thought he did had it not been for the slight hint of sadness Regulus could detect in his voice whenever he spoke of him.

“Well,” Regulus said, gently steering them away from any more talk of father, “How are you getting along with— _the Macmillan girl_?”

Arcturus slightly bristled at the mockery, but let it lie, “Well enough. She’s quite demure—pretty, in a common sort of way—all in all, rather pleasant to be around. She’ll make a good wife.”

“So—,” Regulus said, “—that means she’s dull and average-looking, I suppose you could do worse, especially considering uncle Arcturus wanted you to wed Cedrella.”

Arcturus grimaced at the reference to their nightmare of a younger cousin, "I find myself quite fortunate grandfather struck down that match.”

“The cantankerous old bull is good for something, at least.”

It was then that the barkeep—the elusive and far less impressive son of old Percival Dumbledore—brought along their drinks.

"What are these?" Arcturus said, looking at the three Mary Pickfords on the counter as if they were a group of half-bloods attempting to weasel their way into higher office.

"Mary Pickfords," answered Regulus, "White rum, Maraschino licquer, pineapple juice, and grenadine. Rather delicious."

Archie looked up to the barkeep, "I'll take a glass of water."

"Oh, hush, Archie, just try it!"

"No."

"Are you—are you scared to try a Mary Pickford?”

The telltale clench in his jaw told Regulus he’d dealt a severe blow, but the way Lycoris took her own drink and threw it back as if it were a glass of pumpkin juice solidified his victory.

Arcturus picked up the concoction, eyed it warily, but nonetheless drank it—taking small, wary sips until eventually the small glass was empty.

“It was... _satisfactory_.”

In Arcturus speak, that meant he enjoyed it immensely, so Regulus chalked this one up as a victory.

“Fantastic,” Regulus finished off his own glass, then promptly flagged the barkeep down, “Three sidecars, please.”

“Regulus—“

“—Hush, Archie! Just drink!”

“I don’t drink _this_ much—“

“—Because he’s afraid if he does he’ll be like father.”

Lycoris’s carelessly blunt words only incensed their brother, his face turning beet red in obvious fury—to which she gave a careless shrug. Arcturus stood from his stool abruptly, grabbing his coat and heading straight for the door.

“Oh, look what you’ve done now— _you miserable cow_ ,” Regulus said, as he stood to go after his furious older brother.

Lycoris grimaced at the unintended effect her words had on their brother, but still raised her hands as if to say there was no blame to be had on her side. "It's not my fault he's so bloody dramatic."

“Archie—wait,” Regulus grabbed his older brother’s arm just as he was reaching for the door.

Arcturus looked at him as if he were a particularly annoying insect, “Let me go, Regulus.”

“Come now—you know how Lycoris is, I’m sure she didn’t mean to offend you so. Please, do come back, we can speak more over drinks.”

“I told you—“

“—Please,” Regulus hoped his voice sounded just the right amount of desperate, as when it came to emotions Arcturus was a good deal like Goldilocks—too much and he would dismiss you as a sentimental ninny, too little and he’d think your concerns weren’t anywhere near important enough for him to concern himself with them. It had to be just right.

Regulus appeared to have gotten it just right as Arcturus’s lips turned slightly downward and there was something akin to sympathy glittering in his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, after a short while.

Regulus heaved out a sigh of relief, “Splendid, come on then, let’s head back—I’m sure the shrew is missing our company.”

When they came back to the bar, three sidecars were waiting for them—well, only two were full, as Lycoris appeared to have gotten bored and drank hers before they came back.

“Here, Archie, try these,” he held out the glass to his brother, who took it with that same wary look he had on his face before, though he seemed much more at ease this time.

“So,” Regulus took a small sip of his drink, “Any other opinions on my future sister-in-law?”

Arcturus ran his thumb over the rim of the glass as he struggled to come up with something notable about his future wife, “She can play the piano quite well.”

“Oh, really now!” Regulus said, “Well then, we’ll get along famously.”

“She likes gardening too—flowers, and all that nonsense. She seems much more at ease in a greenhouse than anywhere else.”

“Green thumb, isn’t that just marvelous!”

“And,” Arcturus said, taking a light sip of his drink, “Her friend—the Fawley girl—Eunice, Eugenia—“

“ _Eulalie_ ,” said Lycoris, the light sneer on her face conveying exactly what her opinion of the girl was.

“Yes, that’s it—she despises me.”

“Eulalie Fawley is nothing but an empty-headed busybody—I wouldn’t fret too much about her opinions on anything.”

Lycoris’s lips turned upwards by the smallest amount, and the barely perceptible nod of gratitude Arcturus sent in her direction signaled the closest thing to a detente between his two siblings, for now at least. 

“Oh, Lycoris!” Regulus said, “I almost forgot—a muggle postman was skulking around Grimmauld Place trying to find Number Twelve, said that he needed to deliver a letter to you.”

Lycoris’s eyes went wide as saucers mid-sip, and Regulus knew then that it was no accident that brought the man to their street.

“Oh—Really?” She scratched the back of her neck, nervously. “How peculiar.”

“Yes, it’s quite odd—I have it right here,” Regulus reached into his pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled letter, “Who are— _Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald_ and what do they want to invite you to?”

“No one,” she answered frantically, taking the letter out of his hand with cat-like agility.

“Hmph,” he said, the look on his face conveying all his disappointment. Arcturus, meanwhile, appeared too lost in thought over his upcoming nuptials to even notice what was happening.

“ _Now, see here_ ,” she whispered, fiercely. “These are respectable muggles—“

“—No such thing—“

“—And I will not be lectured on keeping the proper company by you of all people!”

Regulus snorted, “Pansy I may be, dear sister, but at least I have the dignity not to correspond with people so clearly below my station. _Tch, tch_ —what a shame.”

She looked nothing short of incensed, “Arcturus—“

“—Regulus‘s inclinations may be unseemly, but at least he has the decency to keep them well below notice,” Arcturus said, still looking down at his drink.

_So he was listening, after all._

“Well below notice?!” Lycoris said, incredulously, “Everyone and their mother knows—he certainly doesn’t bother to dispel those notions.”

“Have any gentlemen callers of mine come skipping through Grimmauld Place looking for me?”

“Oh, you don’t even have any gentlemen callers!”

“Touché—but if I did, I certainly wouldn’t allow anything like what happened with that postman to occur to me.”

“Quite right,” Arcturus said, “The next muggle postman I see looking for you, Lycoris, I’ll return to sender in an urn. I have allowed you a decent amount of liberties and respected your choices—but you will _not_ bring any more scandal to this family—father does that more than enough for all of us.”

”It’s not as if I’m some blood traitor that believes mudbloods should be considered our equals, Arcturus! I barely interact with any muggles, and when I do it’s the ones with a high social standing. It’s only a relationship of convenience—even the Malfoys still do business with them occasionally. Or where do you think those enchanted Peugeots of Abraxas’s come from?”

”You’re not a Malfoy, you’re a Black—act like it. You’d do well to ensure I don’t hear another word of you disgracing yourself in this manner, or the consequences will be most severe.”

Lycoris blushed crimson, and looked desperately as if she wanted to say something more—but even she knew not to push Arcturus any further than necessary, so she only nodded and glared at the countertop.

He found he couldn’t feel much sympathy for poor Lycoris. Regulus could very well acknowledge there was a double standard in place, but that was just how things were. He got off rather lucky being a man—Arcturus may have found his inclinations ‘unseemly’, but there was always a level of begrudging respect offered to him on account of his sex.

His brother wasn’t completely paternalistic, however. Arcturus believed there was certainly a time and a place for strong women—he merely preferred that the time be long after he was rotting in the ground and the place be thousands of miles way from here so he wouldn’t need to deal with them.

“Barkeep,” Regulus said, snapping his fingers haughtily. “Three pear brandies, please. We need something stronger to foster some amiability.”

Albus Dumbledore’s mediocre brother gave him a slight glare, but with a sigh went to fetch their drinks, mumbling along the way about these _‘young people and their damn fruity drinks,’_ and _‘why doesn’t anyone just order butterbeer anymore?’_

“Leave the bottle,” said Regulus, as they were served their drinks. “I think we all have quite a bit of catching up to do still.”

“Regulus—“

“ _Hush, Archie_ ,” he replied, for what felt the thirtieth time that night, “We will all be getting quite _sloshed_ tonight and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

“I will not be getting— _sloshed_ ,” he spat out the word, “I—“

“— _need a break!_ You’ve been all stressed over this wedding, just sit down and take a night to let loose.”

He placed a hand on his brothers shoulder, “Everything in moderation, dear. Papa may _overindulge_ , but you _underindulge_ —which is really just as dangerous when you think about it.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, dryly. “Oh, really?”

“Yes!” He pointed toward his sister, “Lycoris and I indulge a few times a month, do you see me or her being anywhere near on the same level as Papa?”

Lycoris raised her glass to them while still looking down at the counter, clearly still miffed at being chastised for her less than appropriate social activities.

The stubborn silence and unsure quirk to his mouth signaled a slight opening for him to press on.

“Well, are we?”

Arcturus sighed, shifting uncomfortably in that way he did when he knew he'd been bested, “No.”

“Then what have _you_ to worry about? _You_ , a pillar of traditionalist, upright, English stoicism. I daresay even an imperius curse would find itself utterly _distraught_ at its inability to crack through that exterior.”

After another few moments—God had appeared to smile down on Regulus, as Arcturus gave a shrug that could almost be considered cavalier (the wedding planning must have truly taken a toll on him) and grabbed the bottle to pour out drinks for the three of them. 

Regulus cleared his throat dramatically as the glass met Arcturus's lips—much to the elder's annoyance. 

"A toast: Here's to you, here's to me, may we _never_ disagree. But if we do, the hell with _you_ , here's to _me_!"

This elicited a laugh from a previously sulking Lycoris and even an amused snort from his brother, and with one clink of their glasses they began the festivities. 

This would most _certainly_ be a night to remember. 

**June 22nd, 1923, 7:37 AM, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place**

He couldn’t remember a damned thing.

That was his first thought as he woke up in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, sprawled on the chaise in a manner he thought resembled one of those beautiful maidens in a renaissance painting.

The only thing he could distinguish apart from the horrendously bright light of the sun peeking through the curtains, was his sister laid back in the wingback chair next to him in a similar state, bobbed black curls disheveled and her cocktail dress quite wrinkled.

As his sight adjusted to the light—and a pounding headache that felt as if a horde of hippogriffs were continually trampling over his skull came with it—he found his brother, sitting on the divan across from them, not a hair out of place, clothes pressed, august as ever as he read the society pages of the morning prophet.

Lycoris’s shifting caused his brother to look up in their direction, “Oh, Regulus, Lycoris—finally you’re awake.”

“What—happened?” Lycoris said, groggily.

Arcturus smirked, “You don’t remember? Oh, we ended up drinking quite a bit. After the pear brandy we had some more sidecars, brandy alexanders, absinthe—“

“—Absinthe?!” Regulus said, his jaw going slack.

“Oh, yes,” Arcturus wrinkled his nose, “Wasn’t particularly to my taste—the anise makes the flavor far too sweet for my liking—though you two seemed to enjoy it very much.”

“Where’s my ring?” Lycoris asked, panicked, and it was only then that Regulus noticed the tan line on her ring finger, “The one Mama gave to me?”

“Oh—you lost it.”

“Lost it?!”

“In a game of wizard’s chess to Hadrian Selwyn,” their poor sister looked as if she was about to break down in tears, until Arcturus reached into his jacket pocket and threw a small silver band into her lap, “You should consider yourself fortunate I found it worth the bother to win it back for you.”

She sighed in relief before walking over to Archie and giving him a kiss on the cheek, to which he only gave a half-annoyed, half-pleased grumble.

“Thank you—really, I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

He shrugged, “It’s no trouble.”

As Arcturus went back to reading the paper, Regulus found himself completely lost as to how his brother was already so put together at this hour after the night they’d had.

“How on earth are you so—“

“—So what?”

“Not disheveled, not experiencing the worst headache you’ve felt in your entire existence?! You drank the same as we did!”

Regulus looked over Arcturus’s shoulder and his eyes widened to saucers when he saw a glass of pear brandy beside him.

“And you’re drinking?! How can you be drinking at this hour?!”

“I quite like the taste,” Arcturus shrugged, “As to your first question—I found that the alcohol had little to no effect on me. I never felt much beyond a slight warmth in my chest even after almost emptying all of Aberforth’s stores—I suppose I can handle my liquor far better than you two. Either way, I _must_ thank you for introducing me to this pear brandy—it really is quite delicious.”

Arcturus took a sip that could almost be described as crowing, “Mmm—Thank you both for the pleasure of your company, I really do feel better—despite the fact that the night ended with me _levitating you both back here.”_

The note of passive-aggressiveness in his voice at that last sentence told Regulus that he and Lycoris were in for a rather unpleasant morning.

Arcturus put down the paper and downed the last of the brandy in his glass, slamming it down onto the table with unnecessary force, much to the displeasure of both Lycoris and Regulus, who groaned in pain at the abruptly loud noise.

“Now, I expect you two to be presentable in,” he pulled out his pocket watch, “Forty-five minutes—we have breakfast at Macmillan Manor, everyone will be there. Get to it,” he walked over to the door, and with what could only be described as a smile that was utterly evil, slammed the door of the drawing room with as much force as he could muster.

This was followed by two twin groans.


End file.
